


Holiday Gifts 2020

by Charliesmusings



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Magic vs Extraterrestial Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:48:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliesmusings/pseuds/Charliesmusings
Summary: Did some Christmas gift one shots on tumblr for a few people, so here's the collection! <3Includes: An au where Skrael is Douxie's master, tons of Jlaire fluff (ft. nb Claire), ancient demigods being dorks, and Lt. Zadra meeting... a certain someone.
Relationships: Bellroc & Skrael (Tales of Arcadia), Bellroc/Skrael (Tales of Arcadia), Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Skrael (Tales of Arcadia), Jim Lake Jr. & Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez, Nari & Skrael (Tales of Arcadia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. Who Was Myrddin Wylt? (Master Skrael AU)

The question comes as a shock, with little preamble, as most questions Hisirdoux poses have been lately. Skrael has finally broken the boy of his fear of reprimand for asking a question he worries he may be judged for, he thinks. It is good; no one should be punished for curiosity, he believes. However, glad as he is that this habit has been broken, he rapidly becomes aware that there is the unfortunate side effect of being tossed questions that he is entirely unprepared for.

“Master Skrael, ah… who was Myrddin Wylt?”

Skrael is attending to the mephits when his apprentice asks. It is by luck alone that Skrael does not drop the food he is divvying into their feeders, as he struggles to keep himself under control.

After a few slowing heartbeats, he looks up at Hisirdoux, and tries to keep his voice even, “Where did you hear that name?”

His apprentice seems to shrink a touch, looking guilty, and, well, that won’t do, so Skrael places the food bag on the floor— a treat for the mephits, who pounce on it; he pays them little mind— and floats over to Hisirdoux, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am not angry that you have asked; remember that I never will be. I merely wish to understand the context of your question, so that I may best answer.”

Douxie stares into Skrael’s eyes, trying to search for dishonesty, but he will not find any there; only kindness. Tension fades from his shoulders then, and he responds, “His name is written in the corners of some of the book covers in the library. And… I found some journals with his name on the first page.”

“Did you read them?” Skrael asks, once again struggling to remain calm.

“No… not yet. I wanted to know who their author was, first.”

It is Skrael’s turn to relax a fraction, as he thanks the gods above that his apprentice has learned to treat sources with a critical mind. It isn’t that he doubts Douxie in that area… it’s more that, brilliant as Myrddin was under their tutelage, he turned against his own masters by one singular account, by one potential future, and refused to see a reason to question it. Skrael is grateful that he does not have to fear repetition of the past in anything but word today.

He gives a gentle smile, both proud and relieved, and says, “Well, then, let us move to the library. We may settle in, and I shall tell you the story of Myrddin Wylt as we knew him. Though, I warn you, it is not entirely a happy one.”

Hisirdoux looks concerned at that, may the gods bless him, but Skrael gestures for him to follow, as the two make their way across the fortress.

Upon entering the library, Skrael has Hisirdoux pull up two chairs for them, as Skrael uses a flint to light some fresh logs in the fireplace.

“I will give you one more chance to turn back. This story may not… be a comfortable one.” Skrael offers, as he gestures for his apprentice to sit.

Hisirdoux takes a seat, shaking his head. “No. I want to hear it. It sounds important.”

Skrael gives a soft, humorless laugh. “Well. I suppose that is one word for it.” He pauses, then, trying to think about where to begin, before he decides that a better idea will be to simply ask Hisirdoux to clarify his question.

The boy thinks for a moment, then, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. What _did_ he want to know about Myrddin?

“Was he one of you?” He finally asks.

A reasonable question. Skrael shakes his head, “Not quite. If anything, he was more akin to what you are to us. He came to us for aid with magic, aid in learning and controlling it. We were happy to oblige, of course. He was young; older than you when I found you, but not by much. He was the first pupil we’d had in a long few centuries, so his arrival in our lives was welcome, as yours was.”

Skrael pauses, here, and Douxie immediately fears that this will be the extent of the conversation, so he blurts another question, dissatisfied. “What was he like? Was he a good student? I’ve, ah, seen some of his annotations in page margins…” He admits, flushing a little, having not initially mentioned that.

His master shoots him a raised eyebrow, a silent admonition, though it is ruined by the slightly amused quirk of his lips, which he can’t quite shoo away. “I see. Well… What was Myrddin like?” Skrael repeats the question, thinking about it for a longer moment.

“He was… talented…”

There is a flash of a memory in Skrael’s mind. Myrddin throwing himself relentlessly into his training and studies. The voracious pace at which he read. The demand for advanced lessons. The way his sharp eyes always had an air of arrogance to them, even when Skrael knew he didn’t mean for them to.

“…bold…”

The arguments he’d have with Skrael and Bellroc, under the guise of ‘debates.’ The determination to prove himself. The desire to establish himself beyond even the Order’s power.

“…a brilliant mind…”

The way Myrddin seemed to nearly always be inside his own head. The drive to be someone, and to do things independently. The way he’d never asked for help humbly, had only ever said that if Skrael, Bellroc, and Nari knew how to do it, then he needed to know as well. Needed to, not wanted to.

“…diligent…”

Myrddin had always done things by the book, to the letter, even if that meant taking the long way round. Skrael had tried to open him up to more creative solutions, but he’d never accepted them.

“He… worked for the good of as many as he could.”

And yet, still hadn’t understood what needed to be done. He hadn’t understood the balance of magic, hadn’t wanted to listen, when Skrael tried to show him that man must be weigh in balance with the arcane, not overwhelm it, the way it had begun to, as Myrddin had grown older. He’d been with the Order for so, so much longer than most had been, and yet, still refused to see sense on the matter. He’d fallen victim to the charm of mortals that Skrael had, too, once upon a time. But their charm would wear for Skrael where it did not for Myrddin. Myrddin, who’d started calling himself _Merlin_ in those last few days, shifting his name to one that the humans favored.

Skrael hadn’t liked it.

“But… he was also stubborn. When his mind was made up… it was made up. It was unshakeable.” It had never been a problem until The Night.

The loss of Myrddin… the loss of the seals.

All because of Myrddin’s stupid power, his favored field, the one he’d bolstered too much, to the neglect of certain others. It was all Myrddin’s own fault that he’d felt he needed to leave. He’d foreseen only a potential future, but had taken it as fact, as set fate, all because it was little _scarier_ than the others he’d seen. All because it had seemed as vivid as a waking nightmare. Once upon a time, Skrael would have comforted his apprentice through it, but the man had shoved him off.

“You’re going to destroy the world.” He’d said, with all the certainty one would hold when declaring themself alive, or speaking their own name.

Skrael hadn’t taken it the same way. He’d tried to explain how it was only certain as sand on the shore, or wind through the trees.

“He didn’t listen to reason,” Skrael says in the present, eyes looking distant. “It is why he no longer studies here. You are welcome to read his journals, Hisirdoux, but I caution you to do so with the critical mind you have already demonstrated. And thank goodness for that,” Skrael forces a smile, as he reaches over to ruffle his apprentice’s hair, “I’m not overly keen on the idea of losing two apprentices to the same falsehood.”

Hisirdoux laughs quietly at the touch, but bats his master’s hand away, looking at him seriously. “Master Skrael… I- I just want you know…” He chews his bottom lip for a moment, before continuing, trying not to fear that his words will be viewed with dismissal, or disbelief. “I won’t run away. You won’t lose me. I-I mean, I can’t promise I won’t sneak out, but—”

Skrael gives a soft snort at that, but Douxie ignores it, though the way his eyes are twinkling with mischief reveals that he is a touch proud anyway, “But I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

The air between them is still for half a second, as Skrael feels something change in his chest. Something loosens. Something falls away. Something he hadn’t even known he’d had lodged there.

“Ah…” It is becoming far too common, Skrael thinks, that Hisirdoux is able to completely shake him to his core with just how… how abjectly _good_ an apprentice he has found. He isn’t even entirely sure where it comes from. Skrael could not have been the one to teach him that. Skrael is too cynical, too pessimistic to think the way Hisirdoux does sometimes, and he isn’t sure that Bellroc is any better than he is. No, he is sure; that is all Hisirdoux himself. That is all the boy’s own soul, his own kindness, his own compassion. Skrael considers himself the luckiest in every realm that he is able to not only bear witness to it, but to see it directed toward himself, so undeserving, he thinks.

“Thank you, Hisirdoux. I am glad—” Skrael is cut off by a hug. _Oh._

Hisirdoux’s head has buried into Skrael’s neck, and he is bending awkwardly, but doesn’t seem to pay it mind. Nonetheless, Skrael shifts in his chair, pulling Hisirdoux into it next to him, and adjusts their arms so that he can embrace him properly in return.

“Are you alright?” He whispers.

Hisirdoux huffs and pulls back, looking Skrael in the eyes, “Are _you?”_

Skrael blinks, once again caught in wonderment at his own luck. “I…” he hesitates for just a moment, evaluating. Even if he isn’t, Douxie deserves the truth.

But… no. On the contrary—

“I am now.” Skrael says, and he means it.

And he is so, immensely glad that he does, because Hisirdoux’s resulting smile could light the world, as he leans back in, resting his head on Skrael’s shoulder. “I’m glad. I’m okay, too, to answer your question. I was just… I was worried. About you.”

Skrael gives a soft smile, reaching up to stroke his apprentice’s hair, as he says, “I appreciate your concern, Hisirdoux, but I promise you that if I am not, it would be no task of yours to handle it. I am meant to be there to help you, but you are my so- _student_ ,” Skrael barely corrects in time, “So you will not be forced into a position where you must act as caretaker, I assure you.”

Hisirdoux frowns, and though he doesn’t pull back, he does look up at Skrael through his eyelashes, who looks right back down at him, “But what if I want to be?”

Skrael is becoming far too acquainted with surprise. “Ah. Then… I will still insist that you summon Bellroc and Nari as well, to come and help. However… I will, of course, be incredibly grateful for your presence. You… you do make everything better, here, you know.”

Finally, Hisirdoux is getting a dose of his own medicine, as his eyes go wide in bafflement, _“Really?”_

Skrael smiles knowingly, “Very much so.” He glances around conspiratorially, before grinning back at Douxie, as he stage-whispers, “In fact, I believe that I have never seen Bellroc quite so eager to work with anyone than when they get to deliver your lessons for the day. But you did not hear this from me, do you understand, Hisirdoux?” Skrael slips into his lecture voice, and Douxie nods enthusiastically.

“I understand completely, Master. I am to immediately tell them on sight.” He says, managing to hold a completely straight face, which makes Skrael burst out into a startled laugh.

“ _Oh,_ you traitor. I have half a mind to punish you for that, so it would be in _your_ best interest to begin groveling…” Skrael pauses for emphasis, “now.”

Hisirdoux gives false consideration back, drawing out an exaggerating ‘hum,’ before he bolts from the chair, calling Bellroc’s name out the library doors. Skrael chuckles softly, watching him for just a moment, savoring the way his apprentice’s eyes are practically sparkling with his mischief, before he rises from the chair as well, and, in his bout of playfulness, decides to properly run after Hisirdoux, who gives a yelp when he sees him, the pair of them giving chase toward Bellroc’s quarters.

Later, their play will have ended up in a pile of all three order members and their young apprentice, tangled together on Bellroc’s floor, breathless from laughter, and all Skrael will be able to think is, _Thank the lucky stars for him._


	2. Sublime (Jlaire Fluff ft. Strickdad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is based on trolljim (windmireking)'s au where Jim goes back to being a troll after wizards!

Jim, half-troll though he was, had rapidly adjusted his sleep schedule to match Claire’s. It helped that he could go into the sunlight now, of course, and so didn’t have to sleep the day away with blackout curtains over every window.

Yet, he wasn’t sure what it was— maybe a leftover side-effect from being nocturnal for a while in his youth, and thus, was more used to being awake in the hours before dawn— but frequently, so frequently that it was nigh a habit, he woke in the dead of the morning, just before sunrise.

This morning was no such exception. As his eyes flickered open, slowly, naturally, the room was shaded in such a way that indicated that the sun had yet to rise, but was perhaps flirting with the idea.

Whenever this happened, he couldn’t entirely say he minded. He’d never considered himself a morning person as a teenager, but he had to admit that the early morning, the golden over the horizon… it was beautiful.

_Almost as beautiful as the person in bed next to him_ , he thought, giving a private smile as he glanced over at them now.

Their hair was tangled and messy, and fell over their forehead in feathery waves. He almost brushed it away, but was concerned that he’d wake them. They’d been chipping away every day at a doctoral dissertation, and so deserved the rest. He wished he could get them to rest more, but Claire was endearingly stubborn. They worked harder than anyone else he knew, and while he worried sometimes, it really was stunning to watch. They were easily one of his biggest inspirations. And, vice versa, they were happy to inform him that he was the same for them. It was sweet to know that. He loved them dearly, and the idea that they motivated each other to be better, together? It was sublime.

_This,_ he thought, staring up at the ceiling with a goofy smile on his face, _**this**_ _is sublime._

In a few hours, they’d need to get up, the both of them. In a few hours, Jim would begin on breakfast, and Claire on coffee and setting the table. In a few hours, he’d kiss them good-bye, and open up his to-do list for the day.

But for now… for that moment, Jim could simply breathe in the dawn, and let his smile grow wider, when he noticed the first rays of sunlight lighten their window sill.

Gently, carefully, he slipped from their bed, taking his phone with him. He walked into the sitting room of their apartment, pulling up one of their kitchen table chairs to the living room windows. They weren’t enormous, but they were big enough to stare out at the horizon of the city in which they lived, and appreciate how the sun glittered over the buildings, over the park nearby.

Tearing his eyes from it for a moment, he opened his phone, slid over to his camera, and snapped a picture.

He didn’t do this every time, because it would fill up his storage with how often he treated himself to watching the sun, but he clicked over to the group he shared with Strickler and his mom, and sent the picture along anyway because it had been a few weeks since he’d done so. After the message read that it had sent, Jim glanced back up and out the window, mind feeling blank, and calm.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, that he looked away again. His phone had buzzed with a text from— _oh_ , his mom. He chuckled softly; no matter what hour it was, his mom was often one of the first to get back to him, unless she was in the middle of working with a patient. She kept almost as odd hours as he had when he’d been the Trollhunter, so it wasn’t at all odd to see her quick response.

“That’s beautiful, honey!” she’d written back.

He grinned wide, sending a heart in return, and was about to close out of his messages app again, when a new message popped up, from Strickler. Now, that one was odder. Strickler’s sleep schedule was also that of a human’s, but even he usually took what chances he could to sleep through the sunrise, given that they had quite a number of— in Jim’s opinion, too-quickly— growing children in the house by now. He was reliably up fairly early, still, for a stay-at-home parent, but waking at dawn was rarer. He had half a mind to send a check-in message to him privately, but as Strickler’s message loaded, Jim got a little distracted— it was picture as well. A picture of Walt Jr., riding the bike that Strickler and Jim had gotten him, and helped to build, when Jim had been home last week for the boy’s eigth birthday (pointedly not his fifth). Jim beamed, seeing the huge grin that Walt was wearing, as he had clearly been trying to peddle hard down the sidewalk, training wheels and all. He looked fiercely determined to perhaps run Strickler over, even, and Jim was only proven to be correct in this assumption, as Strickler supplied a second text, which read, “Nearly made me drop my umbrella yesterday. I think he enjoys the gift.”

Jim let out a quiet laugh and texted back, “Man, if only I’d known your true weakness was kids on bikes, back in sophomore year. Happy he likes it, though.”

Strickler’s response was near immediate, “You were a child on a bike back then as well, Young Atlas,” the old nickname made Jim’s chest flip a little, with sentimentality, “And you certainly tried too. Unfortunately for both you and Walter Jr., I am a little harder to defeat than that.”

Jim snorted and keyed in “A shame,” but thought that perhaps a different approach would get Strickler back for the ‘Young Atlas’ use— no way was it an accident— so he backspaced and typed out, “I know. And I’m glad.”

Strickler’s response was slower this time, and Jim grinned to himself, a little victorious grin.

“Barbara, come quick. I believe something is wrong with Jim. He is saying kind things to me.”

Jim rolled his eyes fondly and typed back, “You’ve heard me say more kind things than that.”

“Like what?” Strickler wrote back, and Jim’s response is too fast for him to realize that he’s being baited, as he sends, “Things like ‘I love you’ for example.”

“Oh, I love you too, Jim.”

Jim let out a soft gasp when he realized what Strickler had done, almost dropping his phone. Sure, he’d said it before, but it wasn’t often. Strickler tended to show, rather than tell. Not that Jim hadn’t heard it enough, either, but… well, it was just nice, sometimes, to hear it aloud. Or, well, over text in this case.

He puffed out his cheeks in amused frustration, and sent back, “Smooth.”

Jim could practically hear Strickler’s smug tone as he read the man’s “Thank you” in response.

Unable to resist, Jim ended the conversation by shooting back a “:P”. He had no doubt that Strickler was laughing on his end.

It was as he set his phone on the windowsill when he heard movement in the bedroom, and moments later, Claire was walking out, wrapped up in a throw blanket, looking like the very definition of the word ‘groggy.’

Jim broke out into yet another smile, seeing them. Wordlessly, he opened his arms, as Claire walked directly into them, leaning on him sleepily.

He ran his fingers through their knotted hair, being gentle when he hit snags, and laid a kiss on the top of their head, murmuring against it, “What are you doing up?”

They pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes as they said, “Had to get up early today. You didn’t hear my alarm?”

Jim looked embarrassed, “No. Guess I was too distracted by- oh, hold on one sec,” he perked up, and reached for his phone, pulling up the picture of Walt Jr.

Claire gave a soft “aww,” seeing it, and made a mental note to get that picture from Jim later. It would make a nice surprise to frame it for him. Because they’d seen the way he looked, when he showed it to them. He’d stared at it longer than they had, even though he’d seen it already. His eyes had held something honestly magical, and if there was anything that they knew well, it was magic.

Jim gave them a quizzical look, though, when he noticed them staring not at the picture, but at him. They grinned with the look of someone who knew something they didn’t, as he asked “What?”

Claire patted his cheek softly, “Nothing… just… admiring.”

The blush that overtook Jim’s face gave Claire no small amount of delight. They giggled seeing it, and only moreso when he shot them a look and then leaned in for a sudden kiss. They cupped his jaw, holding him there, placing a few more pecks on his lips, before pulling back, eyes meeting his. The look they shared could only be described as an exquisite kind of loving, as they leaned back in again, this time, pressing their foreheads together.

Without breaking that, Jim stood slowly, having to bend a little to reach, but he didn’t mind. He took both of Claire’s hands into his own, and began to hum a song.

It took them a few bars to realize that it was the song from the overlook, the song that they’d both long ago decided would be their first dance if they ever got married.

Claire gave a quiet laugh as it clicked, and looked at Jim fondly, “You sap.”

“You know it.” Jim grinned back, twirling them.

They raised an eyebrow, almost as if they’d been challenged, and, with a careful sweep of their leg, they disrupted Jim’s footing enough to allow them to catch him in a dip. They smirked down at him, as his surprise colored his face. When what had happened truly set in, he let out an amazed giggle, staring right back up at them. “Well… looks like I’m falling for you, huh?”

Claire snorted, “That was very unoriginal, you dork.”

“You’re the one who laughed.” Jim winked, and Claire shot him an amused look.

“I could drop you, you know.”

Jim responded by wrapping his arms around their neck. “Do it, and you go down, too.”

Claire considered for a moment, before shrugging and letting him drop, going willingly with him.

Jim gave a yelp as he fell back, though neither of them were harmed by the fall. “I can’t believe you actually did it!”

Claire put their hands on either side of Jim’s head, pushing themself up enough to look into his eyes once more. “Surprise.” They teased, before leaning in for another kiss, a long, deep one.

When they pulled back, the both of them were just a touch dazed— mornings like this, kisses like that, were not all that rare, but it was still nice when they happened— smiling like fools.

Their eyes met again, blue on brown, as Jim broke the silence first, “You hungry?” He whispered.

Claire sat up fully, pushing themself to standing, and then offered Jim a hand to help him up as well, as they nodded. “Starving.”

Jim grinned, “Awesome. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“‘Kay,” Claire stood on their tiptoes and gave him a soft peck on the cheek, before continuing, “Gonna go shower real quick, then; be right back.”

“Alright. Oh, and— hey— Claire?”

They turned back to him, looking confused, “Yeah?”

“I love you.” Jim said simply, a goofy smile written across his face.

Claire blinked, before going a little pink in the face, “Jim Lake Jr. you really are a sap.” They huffed, smiling back. “But, I love you, too.”


	3. Genesis (Skraelroc First Meeting)

It begins, as everything does with them, with an eruption.

Molten rock sparks and begins to concave, as it swirls in its pit, pressure and heat building to capacity. The hot land around the full-to-bursting mountain quakes, and splits in places, as something gives, and earth explodes outward, flinging with it, smoke and a figure in it.

They awaken halfway through their arc. A breath is sucked in, a gasp, which is all black ash and acrid gas, but it does not hurt them. They feel invigorated.

Their descent begins, and they hurtle toward the heated surface of their new dwelling place— it is exclusively theirs— but before they impact, they throw their hands out. Flame jets from them, and the opposing force is so strong that they rocket into the air once more. When they land, it is islands over, and the crater they create rolls through the ground, expanding until it is enormous and deep. And there, in the center, steam is pouring from them, as they stand to their sum height.

They look down. They can _see._ They can see themself. Their hands, their fingers, curling with the sensation of… rather, simply with sensation. There are nerves, and veins, and they burn white hot with energy. The planet on which they walk, the dirt between their toes, is barely older than them— they can feel that. _How can they feel that?_

They marvel a moment longer at their flesh and sinew, before they follow the curiosities of their mind, and look up. There is no reason not to indulge, not to follow whimsy.

They laugh softly, and _oh_ , their voice feels like the way magma moves, thick, but liquid, changeable. Slick.

They will come to learn that their emotions do the same, but not yet. There is no cause for any emotion but joyous anticipation, for now.

For, now, they are _alive._

—

Across the planet, and across time, ice begins to crack.

—

Born a number of moons apart, and entirely unaware of the other, Mage Wind and Mage Fire begin to go about the processes that echo in their heads, left there perhaps by ancients that seek to rise again. Ancients that are buried at the heart of a planet, that had roamed until they could no more. Ancients that sought champions.

Two of the three had been completed, but a triangle is no triangle without three points, three sides.

Three magics.

And the first magics will be formed from threes.

Mage Wood will come soon. She is not ready, yet. She must be connected to everything the other two are not, and thus, she must grow; her roots must pulse to the crust of the land and back to the core again, before she will be ready to carry what she must.

In the meantime, two opposites must first become complements. It will not do otherwise. _Nothing_ will do otherwise.

—

Bellroc— that is their name, was the first word from their lips, and they are not sure how this came to be, but they do not believe it is the most important question on their mind because the one that is important is— Bellroc must go on a search — _where, and who, is the new one?_

They know nothing but that his dominion is in the North; the part of the planet they’d avoided previously. It is _cold_. It extinguishes them, makes them feel sluggish and vulnerable. They will go, though. Because they must. They know it.

They know that they are to bolster the power that flows through their veins, and they know that they are lonely. They know that he may be, too, if they wait too long. They also know that he will be seeking to grow in his own arcana as well, and what better way to do that than to do it together?

They’d always suspected that they weren’t meant to have been alone at their formation, but had held no evidence of this, until they’d felt something… join them. Until they’d felt him.

They’d felt a soul solidify into life, had felt the gale forces of all the winds on earth whip past them, going north, and moments later, they’d felt a shift in the very plane of magic itself.

So they followed the wind, flew north themself, and ignored the way the cold seeped between their feathers, and rose the hairs on the back of their neck. They wanted to find—

An aura that was utterly _freezing_ washed over them, as their feet singed snow, when they landed. _They were close._

_Too close_ , it already felt like, as they heated their hands and blew into them, letting warmth caress their face. They hated having to expend magic while it was still so new to them, but they’d had yet to truly overextend with even the greatest displays of power they had, so perhaps they were simply underestimating themself. They weren’t sure. Everything was so _new._

They tried to project a non-threatening personage, for they did not know how this… North Wind would react to their flame and sparks and heat.

_Not well_ , would be their immediate next thought, as they felt a gale force stronger than anything that could comfortably be passed off as natural whip across them, forcing them to throw up their hands in front of their face to interrupt the flow, so that they could get air into their lungs. They stood their ground despite this, burying their feet into the snow, heating enough that they could melt ankle deep in it, get a stronger foothold.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” A voice creaked through the wind, winding around them in a way that made it impossible to tell its direction of origin.

“I am Bellroc, Keeper of the Eternal Flame, and you—… you are like me. You are— we are— the first. The first on this planet. The first… thing that _I’ve_ met. And you’re like me.” Their voice did not waver, but was gentle, soothing, though it shifted.

It must not have alarmed him, however, as a curious head appeared from behind a snowbank, and _ah_ , he was much closer than they’d thought. _Clever thing._ He’d practically stood in front of them.

He approached slowly, almost… not afraid, really. Warily, perhaps. The way one approaches when danger is not immediately obvious, but could be. Or, if they thought it could be. Bellroc meant the stranger no harm.

As if they could hurt him anyway. His gaze was disarming, piercing them in a way that sent their chest feeling wild and open. _There he is._ They thought. _A fellow. A friend._

His eyes raked up and down, and then back up again, to meet theirs. He tilted his head, and they had to resist the urge to copy him, to do to him what he was doing to them. They stamped on the idea, instead taking the plunge, deciding that any more caution would stall them longer.

“What is your name? Do you know it?”

He recoiled for half a second, curling in on himself, but after what was written across his face a self-admonition, he seemed to unfold again, taking another step forward. They were now close enough that their arms could likely touch in the middle, as their peer’s voice sounded again; it still sounded like wind, but was less overwhelming and deafening, and instead washed over them like an easy breeze. “Skrael. I am called Skrael. Of… of the North Wind.”

Bellroc felt a smile bloom before they could nip its bud, “Skrael.” They repeated. “This is… good. Thank you for telling me. I—”

“You said you were like me.” He blurted, to their surprise.

They blinked, and while he seemed to regret his question, they couldn’t help but find it… incredible, to be interrupted. To have someone who could interrupt them. They almost wanted to ask him to do it again.

“I did.” They said, choosing caution first. They couldn’t get ahead of themself. They barely knew him.

Yet… the magic that passed between them… there was little they knew about him in the factual sense, yes. But, it rather seemed that their intuition was much more educated. They didn’t know, yet, things like the extent of his power, or what he dreamed about, or how his footfalls sounded. But they knew that, though they could hardly call him familiar by information, something about him was drawing on their chest, reassuring them that they would, someday.

“Can you— are you—” Skrael faltered on his words, seeming as though he were grasping for something that was just out of reach of his own head.

“Arcane?” They finished for him.

He nodded, and something warmed in Bellroc’s chest that they couldn’t entirely attribute to their magic. They’d guessed his words correctly.

“Yes. I am. Would you like to see?”

His nod was so rapid and enthusiastic despite himself, but it only endeared him to them further.

They couldn’t resist a private smirk beneath their mask, eager for the chance to get a real, genuine reaction at the things they’d been learning to do.

A flash and some golden runes scrawled into the very air itself later, they were juggling flame between their fingers, growing it to toss from hand to hand. They waited, watching him admire the thing, preening at his quiet noise of wonder.

After they gestured for him to step backward a bit, they shot him a wink, and then hurled the ball into the sky. It streaked upward, leaving red and orange in its wake, before it reached a certain point in the air, and shed its containment, exploding outward in a show of sparks and radiance.

The look that Skrael gave them made them feel like they could soar.

“I… cannot do that. But— I can do—” Skrael paused, to inhale and exhale, readying himself.

Mere hours old, Skrael’s power would need growing. But it was something that Bellroc couldn’t do, the way he couldn’t create flame.

With a look of concentration, and a determination that waved off of him strong enough for Bellroc to feel, a flurry of ice and wind expelled from his hands, which he wound around them in a pretty dance; it was so intricate, and so different from what they’d grown used to, that they even forgot how much they hated cold, because to witness his ability, young as it was, felt like the greatest luck they’d ever stumbled into.

“Incredible…” They breathed, and Skrael ducked his head shyly.

A smile was etched into his face, however. “It is nothing yet. There is… a pull. This is only the beginning, I think.”

They nodded, and, while they knew what his intent had been with the words, it felt as if there was a second, beneath it, as they smiled back at him, knowingly, “Skrael… I think you are right.”


	4. "Do not ask" (Zadra and Bellroc Meet)

Lieutenant Zadra of Akiridion-5 was not often… one for vacations. But her queen had nearly shoved her through the portal to Earth, insisting that visiting Krel, and not engaging in her work in any way might be good for the woman. Something about her core seeming stretched-thin— an adaptation of a human phrase, she’d noted, as Aja had said it— which she wasn’t entirely sure she believed, but her queen had insisted. Zadra was much more convinced that it had something to do with the fact that the queen’s human friend Steven Palchuck had passed her going the opposite direction in the portal, but for how much motherly authority she held over the queen, she couldn’t disobey a direct order.

So, Earth it was. Krel had received her on the other side with wide-open arms, and it had been a sweet embrace. Perhaps her queen had somewhat of a point. It _had_ been a long time since she’d seen the king-in-waiting.

After a week or so, the vacation began to lose its charm, though. Seeing Krel was nice, but the boy was busy with either his human friends, or his gadgets that she only half-understood, and while her vacation wasn’t meant to be specifically for her and Krel to see each other exclusively, she did grow a tad… restless during the day. The soap operas that Lucy had recommended could only entertain her for so long.

On day eight of her vacation on Earth, she’d finally gotten too restless to resist the call to _do something_ , so she’d woken at their dawntime, left a note on the counter for the other residents of the house, and taken off, serrator in hand. Aja had said not to work, but she hadn’t forbidden Zadra from training. Besides, this was less training and more… entertainment. A way to keep herself sharp, but also, a way to enjoy herself. Earth had _forests._ _Trees._ They provided a lovely challenge that she just couldn’t access on Akiridion-5, at least, not organically.

The sky was still a pale heather overhead as she found her way deep into Arcadia’s namesake oaks, spotting a nice clearing in which to go through her technique first. Formal scythe forms and classical training first; improvisation and creativity second.

By the time the sun crested the tops of the trees, Zadra’s red boots were closer to brown and green, and she was panting ever-so-slightly. Her muscles burned with her effort expenditure, but it was nice. Familiar. She felt much less wound-up. Perhaps her queen had been right after all. She had needed a break.

It was as she’d decided to try moving to a new spot, to push her limits, test herself in a new environment, that she found them, about a half-mile from where she’d just been.

Ruins.

She found ruins.

Great chunks of white stone, gold embossed architecture, crumbling towers of what must have been a grand building. Oddly enough, however, they looked almost… recent. There was no overgrowth of the flora that covered Earth’s surface, no aging around the gold, which was still so polished, shimmering in the heightening, midday sun.

The tiniest sound, the flutter of something like feathers, was all she received as warning, before she was whirling on her heels, her favored weapon of choice— the double-edged scythe mode on her serrator— fully engaged. She wouldn’t attack just yet; if a problem could be solved diplomatically first, she’d be more than happy to avoid violence… but something felt off. The air felt hostile.

When her eyes landed on something red, glowing hot in the shadows, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin, and moved her unarmed side to be the one she led with— her position was powerful, closed in the event of danger, but not provocative of violence— as she said aloud, “Are you friend or foe?”

Two glowing eyes turned to an angle, indicating that the being had tilted their head. When a voice came from where they were perched, Zadra felt a tense shiver run down her back. The way it shifted between something nearly melodic to something ancient and deep… Zadra didn’t favor it.

“That depends. Why are you here?” the shadows demanded.

Zadra’s grip on her scythe, though it was down by her side still, tightened. Nonetheless, she saw no reason to lie. “I was searching for training ground. Is… this land yours?”

A tree branch shifting, and the way the red glow dropped, told Zadra that the being stood on equal ground with her now. The voice spoke again, but this time the lieutenant was ready for it. It did not startle her this time around.

“Not particularly, no. But I must ask you to leave, if you know what is good for you.”

Now, Zadra was not one to pick a fight unnecessarily, but she did recognize a threat when she saw one. “And why is that? Can we not share the space?”

_“No._ ” The voice growled.

Zadra narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

The pair of glowing eyes in the shadows turned somehow even more dangerous, meeting hers dead-on “Meddlers may end up... _hurt.”_

The Akiridion scoffed. “I believe I will be quite alright.”

There was a brief pause, as the being almost seemed surprised.

Then, slowly, they stepped into the sunlight, materializing bit by bit from the darkness. Zadra took one surprised step back, before catching herself, and holding her ground. She knew this creature now… Krel had warned her, had shown her the footage from Dadblank.

She immediately sank into a defensive position.

Noticing this, the magician’s head canted once more, observing Zadra’s reaction. They almost seemed to smirk under their beaked mask as they said, “I would not be so sure… You seem eager to engage me in combat. Allow me to assure you— it will not go well for you.”

Zadra grit her teeth, tensing as she dug her heels into the ground, preparing to strike. “I know well who you are— you hurt my king-in-waiting. I cannot allow this to go unpunished. In the name of House Tarron, I will strike you down!”

This was the magician’s only warning; Zadra was honorable, but she was not above being ruthless. Quicker than the being seemed to have expected, Zadra was on them, Akiridion metal boring down against the blade on their staff, brilliant sparks whizzing past their faces as the weapons met. 

—

Bellroc had not thought it would go this way. Often, intimidation was enough. But as the other’s blade met theirs, they felt the muscle behind her attack, and were forced to reevaluate.

The woman seemed light on her feet, Bellroc noted, as she sprung up and over, clearing their head by a healthy few inches. Unfortunately for her, as flame was wont to flickering with the way that air shifted, so too was Bellroc prepared to be quick and adaptable. They whirled on their toes, planting their feet just in time to bring their staff up to block once again.

The pair pushed against each other, but neither was immediately winning the clash, so Bellroc improvised. Without the warning of an incantation spoken aloud, the stone at the top of their staff glowed brilliant red. The woman’s eyes flicked to it, and Bellroc took their chance.

She didn’t see Bellroc’s head until it had collided with her own, but as strong as Zadra was, thick bone was no easy hit to take, not when it felt like her very head was splintering.

She stumbled back a few steps, and when her fingers felt a crack in the skin on her forehead, she narrowed her eyes, growling low in her throat. The other being seemed to be riding high from the hit, so she took the small window of opportunity she had to refocus, and begin spinning her scythe, building up the kinetic force necessary to fling an energy-copy of her blades hurtling directly at the other.

Bellroc had been taking the barest hint of time to right their mask, after it had been pushed slightly off-kilter by their attack, so by the time they saw the blade, it was too late to avoid it hitting them at all. They only just had time to dodge it enough that the thing sliced their shoulder, rather than piercing anything vital. They gave a soft grunt of pain— it had been quite some centuries since they’d been physically wounded by a blade, and it sent their mind spiraling with rage. These insolent, _stupid_ mortals, deigning to think themselves powerful.

Well, if the mortal wanted to see true power, then, _fine._ Bellroc could do that.

With both hands on their staff, they hissed the incantation— solely because they knew how intimidating it would sound— and gathered heat directly from the air around them. Their staff pulsed once, and then released the heat back, in the form of an enormous golden ball of flame, shot directly back toward the woman.

Zadra had to throw herself to the side to avoid the blast, and she almost taunted the being for missing, but as the ball of magic crashed into the crumbling wall a few yards behind her, it sent a wave of hot energy recoiling toward her prone back, along with dust and chunks of stone. She was thrown from her feet, and, worse, from her serrator, which was now lying too far from her to risk gathering, as the magician was rapidly approaching.

Zadra breathed in deeply— _an unarmed strike, then_ , she thought--and focused her core.

_Wait… wait…_

Bellroc didn’t see the feet aimed for their abdomen, just below their armor, until they connected, and— _ah, the woman was quite strong_ , they thought, almost in mutual respect, as they were toppled to the ground, their staff being wrenched from their hand as they did.

Bellroc was then thoroughly humiliated, lying on their elbows, seeing the business end of their own weapon very near their face.

_That just wouldn’t do, now would it?_

They were lucky they didn’t need the thing to cast.

They blasted Zadra with a cheap shot of flame from their hands, and as she was distracted, Bellroc scrambled to their feet.

They evaluated the situation, eyes flickering all over the field in rapid movements, taking it all in and—

_Ah._

The blue scythe felt unfamiliarly balanced in their hands, but… it wasn’t entirely different from a staff. This one was just double-ended where theirs was not.

Spinning it a few times in their hands to give a try helped them adjust to the weight— and just in time, too, as their own blade was swung haphazardly at their face; they blocked it with the handle of the scythe, between their own hands, and a vicious grin slid across their face, as the eyes of their mask bore heatedly into Zadra’s, “You know not what you hold, _mortal_.”

“And you continue to underestimate me,” the woman shot back as she turned the blade on its side and slid it down the handle of the scythe, toward one of Bellroc’s hands.

They dropped the scythe from the endangered hand, and with a rapid wind up, they swung it one-handed toward Zadra’s head.

Zadra, who ducked and rolled, and answered back with a swipe at Bellroc’s ankles. They leapt into the air enough to avoid the shot and brought one side of the scythe in a furious arc back toward the woman, in retaliation. It, too, would miss, though, as she rolled once more, and finally sprang back to her feet, sending the blade once more toward Bellroc, aiming this time for their neck.

It was met with a blue scythe curve, and once again, the two were locked in a clash.

Bellroc readied yet another spell— the amount of magic they’d had to use in what should have been an easy fight was bordering on shameful— as Zadra’s core gleamed with anticipation.

The pair leapt apart, and as they raced toward each other for another attack, both opponents had to admit a certain level of… appreciation for the other’s abilities.

When later asked, however, as Bellroc returned to the fortress with glowing red slices across their body and a tear in the fabric hanging from their belt— and Zadra to the Tarron Earth home, with scorch marks, ash, mud, and aching muscles— neither would admit such appreciation.

In fact, as their respective others asked just what exactly had happened to them, unbeknownst to each other, they’d both, in tandem, simply said, “Do-” “-not-” **“-ask.”**


	5. Always (Skrael comforts Nari)

One of Skrael’s most favorite things about Nari was the way she smiled, followed immediately by the sound of her laughter. Her joy was his, too, because he took his in seeing her happy. They’d known each other for so long, now, that it seemed unlikely for him to be surprised when she wasn’t. Of course, Skrael knew, she wasn’t happy every moment of her life; it would be unreasonable to expect such. So, perhaps, then, surprise was not the correct word. Skrael was never _surprised_ that Nari was, like every being he’d ever met, capable of complex emotion. He knew her inside and out, and was intimately familiar with her emotions, practically feeling them as she did, as he could recognize the small nuances that signaled a particular change in just how she was feeling, as well as whether or not she wanted someone to know. Thousands of years with someone tends to make that possible.

Yet, on the other hand, when she did feel something in the range of _pain_ , or _hurt_ , it ate Skrael’s insides whole.

Worse, still, was when he could tell that she wanted to hide it from him and Bellroc, despite whatever it was clearly pressing against her teeth, wanting so badly to escape.

Nari was no stranger to wearing her emotions proudly, like paint across her face, or a declaration of her soul. Which is perhaps why it did hurt worse, when she was trying to hide it. Skrael’s chest burned when he saw her that way.

It was burning right at that moment, in fact, as he noticed the dull light in her eyes, the way that her greeting smile had not reached her eyes, nor the bags beneath them.

He had to approach the situation delicately. If she wasn’t ready to talk, he wouldn’t push her, but he thought that perhaps allowing her to get it off her tongue, to lean on the support he could offer, then maybe the pain would ease, the tension would melt.

He took a careful breath, then, and said, “Good evening, Nari. Out all day, were we?” His voice was soft, trying not to sound as if he were prodding, as he injected the hint of an amused tone into his question, to give it a casual air.

Nari jumped as if she hadn’t known that he was there, and—well, that was odd. She’d shot him a smile, fake as it had been, upon seeing him come across the forest clearing in which she was standing. _Was Nari truly going through the movements of normalcy, without even being present?_

This was… worse than Skrael had initially expected.

He tried not to show his massive spike in concern, upon seeing her this way, as she responded back, voice holding a particular edge, “Oh. Hello, Skrael. Apologies, I—” She hesitated, and evidently abandoned her words, as she shook her head, “What are you doing so deep in the forest? I had not expected a visitor today. Not that I am—that I mind.” She corrected.

Skrael resisted pursing his lips, and instead worked to check his nerves. He would be no good to her nervous. “I wanted to see you; that is all.” It was the truth. All he’d wanted had been to see her—she’d been away from the fortress for some time now, nearly a full moon cycle, and while he knew that she was more capable of protecting herself, he’d been… trepidatious at her lack of message. “Is that alright?” He finished, edging just a touch closer.

She gave him a mildly alarmed look, “Of course it is. Why would it not be?”

Skrael raised an eyebrow, but was careful to keep his voice gentle, as he said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

Nari gave a quiet huff and turned so that he was viewing her in profile, as she shook her head, one hand flying up to rub wearily at her eyes, “Skrael, please. I do not wish to do this today.”

_What?_

Skrael stared at her, baffled, brow wrinkled, “I—I am sorry… I was not aware that something was—do what today, Nari? Have I—” He reached out with one hand, but didn’t make contact yet, “Have I done something to hurt you?” The thought crushed his stomach, but if he had indeed, then he could not fix it without knowing first his offense.

Nari turned only her face back toward Skrael, “You— …no.” She sighed. “I only meant—” She gave a frustrated noise, words failing her. “It is simply that—” She stopped again, and finally, Skrael stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Nari, if I may… you are welcome to tell me anything. I can temper my reaction, if that is… something you seek. Whatever it is you need, I wish not to fail to grant, so… _please._ Allow me to listen.”

The nature spirit had been staring at his hand on her shoulder, but her eyes snapped to his as he pleaded. She looked hesitant, expression betraying her uncertainty—which, _since when had she ever doubted that he would be there for her?_ He noted that as a conversation to be held another day, but one that _must_ be had. Nari could not carry on feeling as though he was not prepared to sacrifice anything for her; she could not labor under that kind of lie—not under his careful, but attentive watch.

He did not say anything, seeking to use the silence as a kind of… opening, of sorts. An opening for her to slot her worries, for Skrael to pick up, to hold, and to banish; but he did nod, a go-ahead signal meant not to startle her, but reassure.

It seemed to have worked, as she opened her mouth to speak, though a sigh came out first. “It is humans, Skrael. I—They are not all bad. I wish that to be clear. I know you disagree.”

Skrael did not respond audibly, but he did force his features into neutral ones, to make it clear that he was not going to throw in his own commentary about what she had to say. He nodded once more, encouraging her to keep going, instead.

Nari took a deep breath, but then obliged, “I—While I believe that they are good… Skrael—” She bit her lip, nearly giving in to the anxiety tugging at her stomach, asking her to quit speaking, and to not breach this subject with him, but his eyes look so full of determination to help that she could not in good faith deny him so. “…Some of them are… less than kind.” She finally admitted, shoulders slumping with what Skrael could identify as defeat, and perhaps some guilt.

He didn’t like seeing either of those on her. “What happened…?” He asked quietly, reaching down to take her hand, which she accepted, giving it a soft, appreciative squeeze.

“It was a human man,” She began, eyes growing distant and dark. “One of those knights of Camelot… He—there was a troll—” She was cut off when her throat seized, and Skrael immediately pulled her into a hug, seeing green seeping into her eyes.

“You do not have to continue, if you do not desire it, Nari. I can… guess what happened, I fear.” His tone, to his own surprise, reflected… remorse. Remorse for the actions of a mortal? Rather than anger, or hatred— _remorse?_

He supposed it could be chalked up to Nari’s own presence, most likely. When he was around her… humans seemed better. The world seemed brighter.

Even odder, he actually found himself shoving down the vengeful venom flooding his chest, as he felt first, heard second, her shoulders heave, as chlorophyll and sap finally overflowed her eyelids and spilled out onto her face, onto his shoulder, when he placed a hand on the back of her head and tucked it there. Not that he minded in the slightest; it did not even occur to him to.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulled her ever closer, and rested his chin on her head, as, with his free hand, he rubbed circles into her back. He said not a word, still, but held her in his embrace, did what he could to ensure that she felt entirely safe, wholly protected.

And she did.

Her fingers curled into his cloak, as she rode out the worst of the things she’d been caging. While she wasn’t a stranger to this kind of scenario, she usually wasn’t holding so much on her shoulders; at least, not nearly as much as she had, lately, between the struggle for balance, the far too many lives lost that day—the one she didn’t like to name—and… and the brewing trouble she’d been having with Bellroc and Skrael. They refused to see sense, see that what they were doing was _wrong._

Yet, despite their tension winding up, Nari nonetheless loved them, and believed that they could be better.

Skrael’s hug, at that moment, restored that belief.

In no way could he be so cruel as to enact their plan. Not when he was holding her like this, stroking her hair, humming a song from their early days with humans, before everything had gotten so complex.

The first, real breath after crying was a near-reverent experience to Nari. As she drew it in, and she pulled back to wipe at the remaining wetness on her face, and as Skrael reached up to do it for her, she had to admit that she did feel quite a bit better. The world was less crushing.

Still… she met Skrael’s eyes shyly, and opened her mouth to apologize—

—when Skrael cut her off. “Nari—you, ah, needn’t—” he hesitated, doubting that his verbal reassurance was the best way to indicate his point. He switched his words, then, offering something that might feel far better—a distraction, with the intent to make her smile. “…Did you know that, ah, I once found a nice colony of mushrooms here?”

Nari looked a bit confused, blinking at him with a curious expression, as she responded, “There is no such colony in this clearing, Skrael. Are you sure?”

He pulled back, affecting shock. “Are _you_ sure? Because I certainly saw some toadstools nearby.”

“Well, that can’t be possible.” She almost huffed, bewildered at his behavior.

“Ah, but I disagree. I am sure they are here.”

“They cannot be, Skrael—”

“It is the truth! On my soul, Nari, I saw them.” Skrael held up one hand as if he were swearing an oath, which did elicit a giggle from Nari, to her surprise, and dawning understanding.

“Oh. Well, friend, unfortunately, your soul may find itself at a loss today, because I can promise you that there are no mushrooms in this clearing.”

“Can you guarantee that?” Skrael challenged, a grin slotting itself over his features.

Nari hated to admit that his tactic was working, but… it really was. She felt a flash of competitiveness, and smirked right back at him, holding out one hand to shake. “I could even wager on it.”

Skrael’s eyebrows raised, as he smiled wider, “I _see_. What do you wager?”

Nari considered it for a moment, before mischief curved across her face, and she said, “I can raise you… how does a guarantee that I can get Bellroc to join our next game together sound?”

The North Wind was impossibly tempted by that offer; it was a shame he was going to lose the bet. “ _Well then_. I know what I wager in return.”

“Ah, would you to care to share that information with me, Skrael?”

He threw them a wink and said, “I can wager you an entire night of whatever it is you could possibly dream of to want, tonight. We can dedicate the entire time to you. It has been… too long since I have, I believe.”

Nari went breathless for half a moment, surprised by how generous of an offer he was making; and it would only set in hours later, when they were deep in laughter and the feeling of old times returning, that she would realize that he’d lost on purpose.

_“Deal._ ” And she was about to reveal that she was connected to the forest floor and could thus feel _just exactly_ what was growing there, when she stopped, and looked at her companion seriously. “Ah, and Skrael…?” She asked, softer this time than she had been a beat ago.

Skrael canted his head, indicating that he was listening.

Nari’s smile illuminated the entire wood. “Thank you.”

_Oh._

Skrael blinked back at her for a pause… before his own smile curved to match hers, as he reached over and laid a careful kiss on the top of Nari’s head. “Always, Nari. Always.”


End file.
